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Emma scooted up into a reclining position so that she could see Belle a little better. “What happened?”
“You fainted.”
“Again?”
“Again!”
“Well, I didn’t exactly faint the first time. It was more like a blow to the head.”
“What!?”
“Well, not really a blow to the head,” Emma hastily amended. “I fell, and then I hit my head.”
“Oh my,” Belle breathed. “Are you all right?”
“I think so,” Emma replied, gingerly rubbing the fast-growing lump above her right ear. “How did I get up here? The last I remember, I was in the kitchen.”
“I carried you.”
“You carried me up four flights of stairs?”
“Well, Cook helped.”
“Oh, God.” Emma grimaced at the thought of Cook having to lug her up four flights of stairs. “How embarrassing.”
“And Mary and Susie,” Belle added.
Utterly mortified, Emma sank back into the bed as if trying to disappear among the voluminous quilts.
“Actually, it wasn’t very difficult at all,” Belle continued, oblivious to Emma’s distress. “First we wrapped you in a blanket. Then I grabbed your shoulders, Cook took your feet, and Mary and Susie spaced themselves out between us.”
“And I didn’t wake up?”
“You did make a few odd noises when we rounded the corner on the second landing, but no, you were most definitely unconscious.”
“Odd noises?”
Belle’s expression turned sheepish. “Well, actually it might have had something to do with the fact that you crashed into the endpost when we turned the corner.”
Emma’s eyes opened wide, and her gaze flew down to the sore spot on her right hip that she’d been rubbing absently.
Belle smiled wanly. “It could very well have been your hip that hit the endpost. I seem to recall we clipped you somewhere in the middle.”
Suddenly a dreadful thought entered Emma’s mind. “What about your mother?”
“None of us exactly told her what happened,” Belle hedged.
“But she must have heard the commotion.”
“Yes, well, she did seek me out once we got you up here.”
“And?” Emma prodded.
“I told her you swooned.”
“Swooned?” Emma’s eyes widened in disbelief.
Belle nodded. “From the excitement of your first big ball and all that.”
“But that’s ridiculous! I never swoon!”
“I know.”
“Aunt Caroline knows I never swoon!”
“I know. You’re not exactly the swooning type.”
“She didn’t actually believe you, did she?”
“Not for one second,” Belle quipped, tapping her slender fingers on her book. “But Mother can be marvelously tactful sometimes, and so she left it at that. As long as you appear at the ball tonight in good health and spirits, she won’t say a word. I’m sure of it.”
Emma pulled herself up into a sitting position so that she could examine all her new aches and pains. “What a ridiculous day,” she sighed.
“Hmmm?” Belle looked up from her book, which she had started to read again. “Did you say something?”
“Nothing interesting.”
“Oh.” Belle glanced back at her book.
“What on earth are you reading?”
“All’s Well that Ends Well. Shakespeare.”
Emma felt compelled to defend her education. “I know who wrote it.”
“Hmm? Yes, of course you do.” Belle smiled absently. “I brought it in to read while waiting for you to wake up.”
“Good grief. How long did you think I was going to be unconscious?”
“I had no idea, actually. I’ve never swooned before.”
“I didn’t swoon,” Emma ground out between clenched teeth.
“So you say.”
Emma sighed as she looked up at her cousin’s mock-innocent expression. “I suppose you want me to tell you what happened.”
“Only if you want to.” Belle reopened the leather-bound volume and began to read again. “I have all the time in the world, you know,” she added, looking back up at Emma. “I’ve decided to read the complete works of Shakespeare. I’m doing the plays first, then poetry.”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. I’m going to do it in alphabetical order.”
“Do you realize how long that is going to take?”
“Of course. But I figure that with the way you’re going, I’ll be spending plenty of time at your bedside.”
Emma narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean by that?”
“Who knows how soon you’ll be unconscious again?”
“I can assure you I have no such plans for the immediate future.”
Belle smiled sweetly. “I imagine you don’t. But if you don’t tell me what happened this afternoon, I might just knock you out myself.”
Many hours later, Emma sat at her dressing table wincing while Meg, her maid, fussed with her hair. Belle sat beside her, undergoing similar torture.
“I don’t think you’re telling me everything,” Belle admonished.
“I told you,” Emma sighed. “I fell down after I knocked the little boy out of the path of the hack. Then I hit my head.”
“What about those earrings?”
“The boy’s mother gave them to me. She thought I was a maid. I’m planning to call on her tomorrow to give them back. How many times do you need to hear this?”